dreadfulgentleman

[dreadfulgentleman]

Smooth skin, eyes like a snake

Wound and round we go, a merry go round of life

I wither and slither and crawl about

I smack my lips and chitter my teeth

I surround you

I feed

I am well again

[dreadfulgentleman]

Cleansing - Of Obedience and Recovery

A POV Reader/William Afton one shot involving a shower.

This is chapter 10 from my fanfic, "Will Power -- The Encouragement to Keep Going".

You stepped forward, bare and ready. Feet planted against a soft mat and a weighty sigh wishing to release from your throat. Your clothes were laid in a heap beside you, your head hung low in exhaustion. It had been two weeks of self-analysis with him. Two weeks of therapeutic work regarding old pain and trauma. The process wasn’t over, yet you found yourself longing for a break. Some kind of pause between the lessons. It was tiring work. Your shoulders ached, your feet were weary, and your mind felt foggy. The fatigue of this long journey was clinging to you like a heavy coat and you wanted nothing more than to remove its effects for at least a moment.

            A glass door was before you. It’s invisible pane the only separation between you and a sweet reprieve. You could hear the sheets of water beyond it already, coaxing you to come closer, to step into its warm and inviting embrace. Persuasion wasn’t necessary, however. It’s what you wanted. It’s what you needed.

            Your hand reached out to the cool metal handle and you pulled it gently, popping open the shower door just enough for you to pass through it. Immediately your form was greeted to a pleasant temperature change, though you were too busy moving to properly process it. Stepping lightly onto the tiled floor within, you let the door swing close behind you on its own, taking note of the scraping sound it created, a sign that it had sealed you in properly.

            The sigh you had previously been holding in let go, and your shoulders sank in relief. Steam was the first thing you felt after that. Hot against your face and moving over you in waves like a lightweight flag in the breeze. You could almost imagine the swirls of heat wrapping around you and pulling you into the center of the contained room. Temptation in cloud form.

            The next thing you felt was the wetness underneath your feet. A welcoming puddle of clean warm liquid creeping between your toes, the feeling of it already beginning to break away the pain you had built up over the last few days. A pulling sensation could be felt from your feet to the drain, as though some inky blackness you didn’t know was there was slipping away from your body. Negativity spiraling down into the pipes below. How much of a toll had this work taken on you mentally if just a small bit of water could bring such relief?

            Allowing the pulling feeling at your feet to stay mentally as you moved, you stepped forward toward what you were most looking forward to: The spray of water itself. The droplets hit you in a cascade, shivering across your skin in sheets. You quivered at it. How cold had you been before to react so shocked by it? You hadn’t even noticed how you felt before. Yet the temperature of the water now seemed to reach straight into your core and crack through any icicles that had formed unknowingly. The immediate comfort of its warm glow almost made you cry.

            You turned slowly, letting the water hit you from every angle in an effort to raise your inner temperature. Your arms clung to your chest like a frail bird and your teeth grit together, as though holding yourself tight would help the process further along. After a solid minute or so of letting the water hit you, your knees began to fold, and your body began to slump. Soon, you were crouched down on the floor, a small heap of recovering flesh, the water hitting your back in helpful droves.

            Another deep sigh released out of you. The water was so warm. The splishes of droplets against your back felt so cleansing. It felt as though all the stress you had been carrying was pooling away and down into the drain. You were right, this was exactly what you needed.

            It was then that you heard it. The glass door opening behind you. The familiar scraping of the door’s bottom edge sealant connecting with the tile. You stayed crouched, listening as the sound of footsteps entered the small room with you.

            For a moment, you remained still. Waiting for some kind of contact, waiting for a sign that you should move. But there was nothing. No hand against your shoulder, no voice telling you to turn around. All you felt was the awareness of someone behind you. A presence. A person.

            Lifting your head, you shifted your body enough to be able to turn and look up at the figure. As you had correctly guessed, it was William. Naked, dark brown hair, silver eyes, cleft chin. Overall, he looked as you had already imagined him this way. Though admittedly you hadn’t ever pictured him standing stock still in a shower room staring at you. It almost looked like he was waiting for something.

            You didn’t describe my scars.

There are no scars.

            Why?

I don’t imagine you that way.

            Oh?

I’m not fond of it. Are they strangely beautiful? Yes. But I find your story more poetic if you only go through the springlock failure once. It doesn’t make sense to me that you would survive it over and over, let alone be free of the suit after it happens the first time. You’re not some comic book character full of mystical abilities in my mind. Having you survive the torture over and over makes your story weak. You’re a human being. With flaws, with goals, with a story deserving of a powerfully just and ironic punishment. Your story is stronger when it is built up to one moment of twisted agony.

            Very well. No scars.

You stood up, releasing your hands from your chest and lowering them to your sides. Under normal circumstances, you might have greeted him with a kiss. Or perhaps pulled him by the hands toward you. Maybe you’d even rush toward him in a fevered chase to start some fun. Regardless, it did seem as though, at least based on your previous interactions with him, that his appearance before you now in such a manner was indicative of the desire to pursue some sort of shower-based fantasy. Why else would he be here? Images filled your mind of being pressed against the wall, hot breath moaning against the glass pane, panting together through the steam. But while any other day that would be wild and thrilling, today you were, quite frankly, not in the mood. Not today. Not when you needed to recover. Today you didn’t want to play. Today you wanted privacy. And you felt justified in wanting that.

            Facing him, you stared straight into his eyes, feeling ready and confident to tell him no if he tried anything.

             Try anything he did not, however. Instead, after another few seconds of meeting your gaze, he turned around and ignored you, reaching for a corner shelf where upon his hand grasped a bottle. It was dark in color, presumably some kind of body wash. His other hand reached out for a loofa you hadn’t noticed before, and he began to squeeze the body wash onto it.

            Not having expected this, you watched him begin to lather the soap with his hand against the loofa. He wasn’t looking at you as he did it, but once the soap had begun to foam, his head turned slightly in order to catch your eye. He stared another long moment, a curious reflection in them, before suddenly turning away from you completely and beginning to wash himself.

            You blinked.

            Oh.

            Was he just… showering normally? With you just happening to be there as well? It certainly seemed like it. There he was, not even facing you, going about his business as though preparing for a normal day of work. Completely ignoring you.

            Well, now you felt awkward. Here you had been assuming he had wanted to turn this moment into one of sexual fantasy. What if he hadn’t thought that at all? Did that mean you just viewed him as a sex object? How selfish was that? What if he just wanted a break too? You hadn’t even considered what his needs might be in this scenario. Perhaps he needed to emotionally recover as well.

            No. But it is an opportunity regardless.

But I’m not in the mood.

            Didn’t say it was that kind of opportunity.

What do you mean, then?

            I will hold still for you. I will be obedient.

I don’t understand how that doesn’t relate to playing. And besides… Obedient? What kind of a word is that for you? That doesn’t sound like you at all.

            Perhaps there is a reason for it. Perhaps I have a motive.

A motive.

            Obedient.

            I suppose even a word like that can be used for manipulative purpose. An act to get what you really want in the end.

            Like Dave Miller.

Right. Well. Regardless, I don’t see how any kind of “obedience” from you will help me. Especially when I’m not wanting to play in that way.

            Don’t get hung up on “playing”. Get to work and you will see.

You watched him carefully. William was still ignoring you, busy in scrubbing his forearms with the loofa which resulted in white suds covering his skin. The scene was so normal. So ordinary. He ignored you so blatantly. Like being a fly on the wall to a morning routine of his. Would this be what it would be like if you were an ordinary couple? Would he shower every morning before work like this? Would you be in here with him on occasion, getting ready just as ordinarily? The more you watched him wash his arms, the more your mind wandered to thoughts of a different kind of fantasy. One filled with realistic expectations of a normal life, one disassociated with a rotting desiccated corpse trapped in a shell of bitter irony. If your lives had crossed in a normal way, free from his story’s fated result, would this be what it would feel like to live with him?

            Your heart suddenly swelled, and your eyes seemed to shift as you stared at him. A realization swept over you. What if his presence here now was to emulate that kind of normal life scenario? Perhaps his appearance in this moment, like it would be in an ordinary circumstance, was meant to be one of silent comfort? To allow you your space of quiet intermission while also still showing his support. Using a fantasy of “normal life” to showcase a loving encouragement of rest.

            A smile spread across your lips. You couldn’t help it. There was no proof that that was what he was doing, but it felt right in your heart to believe it anyway.

            And now. Your previous desire to simply lay on the floor in a depressing lump disappeared. The anxiety that he had come here for alternative purposes fell away as well and what was left was a growing warmth in your heart that you knew had nothing to do with the hot steam surrounding you both.

            Overwhelmed with adoration and a strong desire to thank him, you stepped forward and reached out your arms to hug him from behind. He paused as soon as you touched him, ceasing his cleaning movements and tilting his head sideways as though he could try and see you from that angle. You clung to him tightly for a moment, then you pulled back, kissing his shoulder blade once as you did so.

            He turned around, then. Looking at you with that same curious eye as before, his hair slick against his forehead and neck. The sight of him was beautiful to you. Seeing him in such a seemingly ordinary way. A way in which not everyone had the chance to see him. Perhaps in another fantasy, in another chapter, you would have taken advantage of the moment and kissed him. But instead, you reached out with one hand and took the loofa from his fingers.

            Good.

            He let you do so without trying to stop you, curious to see what you would do with it. You looked down at the object in your hand for a moment, turning it slightly in your palm and letting your mind wander as the soap dripped off of it in unequal clumps. Then, you looked back up to him and stared, waiting for permission. William said nothing, however, merely waiting. Taking his silence as sign of no resistance, you used your free hand to pull forward one of his arms and began to slide the loofa gently against his skin.

            His wrist felt nice to hold. It wasn’t heavy, but the weight of it felt pleasant against your fingers. It felt as though his allowance of you holding him in such a way opened a door to another level of intimacy, one of unexplainable depth. You gripped him tighter as a result, enjoying the feeling of being close to him in a new way.

            Meanwhile, you moved the loofa up his arm slowly and with purpose. He had already covered his own forearms, so naturally you needed to go further than he did. You pushed the loofa up over his shoulder and he even turned a bit so that you could keep the momentum going and travel down the side of his torso. You didn’t stop there, either. Committed in your newfound discovery of wanting nothing more than to help him freshen up, you dragged the loofa across his stomach and chest, taking care to push harder in the areas that you knew from your own body usually responded with a ticklish reaction.

            William’s head was lowered to watch you as you worked. His face betrayed no emotion, seemingly preferring to let you continue without interruptions.

            You kept going, moving to his other side and covering his opposite arm. The more you scrubbed, the more you began to get lost in the work of it. Each swipe of the loofa was driven with careful precision, your eyebrows furrowing over the task of making sure that each line you drew was perfectly cast. Your concentration was hyper focused, a reaction that grew from your desire to be sure that you were treating him with the utmost care. Your devotion to him was strong, and you wanted to be sure that your work in taking care of him reflected that same level of attention. You traced his body like it was the most precious thing in the world to you, which, at the moment, certainly was so. It felt good to run your hands along him in an intimate way without worrying about what it would turn into. You felt like you were giving him a gift of your time, your energy, your space. Treating him like a king—no, a god—one that deserved to be cared for so attentively. Soon, your intensity in making sure that he was properly washed took over to the point where you didn’t even ask him to turn for you. Instead, you would grab his arm and turn him yourself, forcing him to move as you wanted him to.

            Obedient.

            Yes. He was obedient.

            Your intense mindset was interrupted when you reached his backside. At first, you had let the loofa crawl down him as usual, but something snapped within you that brought you back to reality in that spot. Removing your hand from his cheek, you held still a moment. You were momentarily paralyzed, unsure of whether or not to wash that particular area of his body for him.

            William’s hand appeared to answer for you. He took the loofa from you and began to wash himself without your aid. For some reason, you were relieved. You weren’t opposed to washing him in such sensitive areas, but there seemed to be an invisible boundary in your mind regarding anything that could potentially be misinterpreted as sexual intent.

Once he was finished with both front and back, William returned the loofa to your hand. You took it without a word, immediately diving into scrubbing his legs. To properly reach them, you had to crouch down, which didn’t bother you. Nor did it bother you when one of William’s hands reached out to rest flatly against the top of your head. You had already made it clear that you were not interested in anything beyond cleaning, and you didn’t want to make another poor assumption of his intent, so you did your best to ignore it. Given that his hand was not trying to push or prod you in any particular direction, simply resting, it was possible that his grip was nothing more than a small enjoyment of control. A tease for his own pleasure, and one that had nothing to do with sex. Ultimately, though, you were unsure of why his hand was there. Regardless, you continued your work without worrying about it.

            Once his legs and feet were properly washed, you stood back up and William’s hand dropped away. This action made you feel as though you were right to have assumed that the gesture was merely a moment of his taking control, but who knows. If it was, you were happy to provide a private pleasure for him. It certainly did not cross a boundary of yours.

You took the time to hold the loofa in the center of the water spray in order to clear it of any remaining soap, and then you returned it to its place in the corner shelf. But your work was not over once this tool was put away. William was still, after all, completely covered in body wash.

            You reached out your hands to place them against the sides of his midsection and you pulled him into the spray of water. At first, you tried to wipe your hands against him in order to make the soap drop off of him, but over time it became clear that it would be much easier for him to help himself without your aid in this particular part of the washing. You watched him turn, move his arms, and bend his neck to let the water hit him in the proper areas. After a minute or two, he was rinsed completely, back to standing still before you, the water spray hitting his back as he watched you, silent as ever.

You stared at him awkwardly. It again appeared as though he were waiting for something. But what? Then, suddenly, his eyes glanced upward towards the ceiling, and he lowered his head.

            Oh!

            Perhaps with too much haste, you shifted past him to grab the shampoo bottle. Squeezing some of the liquid into your hand, you returned the bottle before resuming your position in front of William. You hesitated a moment, the man before you holding a studious gaze, one that made you feel suddenly shy. But one quick look at his slicked hair and a smile spread across your lips. Admittedly, just the idea of holding his head seemed wonderful.

            Stepping forward, you reached up and pressed the shampoo liquid from your palm into the top of his head, your fingers crawling towards the back of his head to dig into his hair. As soon as you did so, his head leaned forward and his eyes closed. You got the sense that he was enjoying it. You smiled even more, feeling pride at the idea that you could be making him feel good. Your fingers wriggled across his scalp, your lathering of the soap turning almost into a full head massage. You hoped it felt as good to him as it was to give it to him in the first place. Your thoughts wandered to fantasies of being able to rub his shoulders later or even his feet. Small moments of time where you could make him feel better after an exhausting day. Wasn’t that what you did if you loved someone? Treat them to small moments of comfort and intimacy?

            You found yourself lost once again in washing him. This time, your fingers curling around his ears and smoothly dragging down into the back of his neck. He must have liked what you were doing, for his torso seemed to lean forward in reaction to it. His head was practically into your chest as you dragged your fingers back and forth through his hair, petting and lightly scratching his skin.

            Once the soap was foamed properly all throughout his hair, (and you were finally finished with your desire to please him) you let go of his head and gripped his shoulders in order to force him to step forward. He obliged, standing still and straight only once you had silently instructed him to do so. Moving to his side, you shifted your hands to his head once more and you forced him to tilt backwards, his head finding the water’s spray in no time.

            Quickly, you put one hand flat and sideways to his forehead, not wishing for soap to accidentally run into his eyes. Your other hand began to dance through his hair again, this time focused on squeezing it in various places to loosen the soap and get it to fall with a splat against the floor. You repeated the gesture over and over all through his hair until the water ran clear. Then, you instructed William to right himself properly, smoothing his hair with both your hands to rinse out most of the gathered water.

            Satisfied with your work and certain that there was nothing else he would need, you waited until his eyes were open before placing your hands against his cheeks and you leaned forward to gently place a single kiss against his lips. Your work here was done.

            William’s lips smiled at the kiss, but his eyes angled downward at you as though he were an owl inspecting prey. The juxtaposition was strange, although it was nothing new, nor entirely unexpected. You were used to his behavior by now. In fact, if he had responded purely in sweetness, you might have thought something was wrong.

            Suddenly turning, William moved away from you, forcing your hands to lower to your sides. You watched him reach out for the loofa and body wash again. Confused, you observed him squeeze out more of the cleaning liquid onto the loofa before lathering it up until it was sudsy. Then, he returned the body wash to the shelf and turned back to you, holding the loofa in his hand in front of his chest.

            You blinked at him. Then realized what he was wanting to do.

            You swallowed. For some reason, you hadn’t expected this, and the idea that he could do the same thing to you as you had just done to him was unnerving. But why? You had no problem doing that for him. What was wrong with him wanting to do the same?

            Yes. What is wrong with that?

I don’t know. I feel nervous all of a sudden. I feel vulnerable. I feel uncomfortable. That was a gift for you, not for me.

            Selfish equality. Let me do it. I want to do it.

I know you do.

            Perhaps you deserve it.

…

            He stepped forward, raising both hands as he closed the gap between the two of you. One hand reached up to grab your wrist while the other began to delicately place the loofa against the back of your hand. He waited a moment at first, his eyes scanning towards yours to assure that you were fine. But there was no hesitation from you. You were nervous, yes, but you trusted him. And deep down, you knew you wanted it from him too.

            The scratchy fabric brushed against your fingers so tenderly, the soap leaving a trail of bubbled foam behind it. It almost tickled, but not quite. The texture was oddly pleasing, especially when dragged with such slow speed. William’s other hand clutched against your wrist securely, the feeling of both his hands simultaneously being gentle and strong making you want to cry. You didn’t, however. Instead, you watched him turn your hand and drag the loofa up your forearm, again, with slowness and care.

            You found yourself spiritually crumbling before him. You almost couldn’t stand how softly he was pushing the loofa against your skin. William’s gliding movement across your skin was almost floating off of you, so light that it seemed a miracle that soap was even left behind at all.  He was so clearly being careful, so clearly going slow and making sure the experience was enjoyable. Your chest sunk inward over the kindness of it. What had you done to deserve this?

            Be yourself. As wholly as you are.

You swallowed back tears as he continued. Sliding the loofa up over your shoulder the same way you had done for him. Soap trails began to form across your body. On your arm, on your chest, down your thigh. Once both arms and your front were covered, he turned you around with one hand and dragged the loofa down your back. He took his time here, slowly pulling and pushing the tool vertically against your skin, knowing that you would enjoy it. Instinctively, you took one step backwards into him. You didn’t want him to stop, nor were you wishing to express any desire for anything more than just washing, but you were suddenly wishing to be closer to him anyway. He swiped your shoulder blades a few more times, then took advantage of your close proximity and wrapped one arm around you to pull you completely into his stomach. You let him do so, trusting yet again that he did not have ulterior motives.

            Sure enough, he did not. While his hold over you was intimate, he did not push further. Instead, his hand still holding the loofa began to cross over in front of you once more, dragging down to the tops of your legs. Once his hand began to crawl close to your inner thigh, he stopped, immediately raising his arm to push the loofa into your own hand. Opening your eyes, you took the tool and washed yourself obediently (obediently) before handing it back to him.

            The arm wrapped around you released after that, allowing him the proper space to be able to crouch down and rub your legs. You turned slightly to watch him do so, though the sight of him below you made you nervous. You didn’t like him being beneath you like that, as though he were some servant being forced to please you. It didn’t feel like a thing he would want to do. Why would William Afton be below you? Anxiety began to itch up your chest and as such, your hand clawed out to try and pull him back up.

            But he stopped you. His hand quickly grasped your wrist without even looking up, without even ceasing the loofa’s movements. You held still, too startled by his fast reaction to do anything else.

            He looked up at you, then. The loofa still slowly working its way down one of your legs as he did so. Your chest felt cold looking at those eyes. They bore into you, as though daring you to stop him. And then, unexpectedly, William forced your hand to move. He hovered it over his own head, and then plopped it there. Your palm fell flat against his hair and you stood there awkwardly, watching him continue to wash you as your pose reflected one of superiority over him.

            Vulnerability, trust, and control. You are learning all.

            For a moment, you couldn’t move, paralyzed by the strangeness of his actions. But then, you remembered his eyes, how they had commanded respect and authority despite being lower than you, and as such you slowly forced your fingers to move into his hair. He had a purpose in doing this. He had said so himself. You had to trust that. Slowly gripping a few clumps of his hair and testing squeezing it, albeit lightly, you tilted your head in fascination. Strangely, the feeling was… like practically nothing. It hardly felt like anything more than a random movement to distract your mind from his washing your feet. You did not feel better than him, you did not feel superior. You simply felt… normal. Like an ordinary couple sharing space and helping each other. You just so happened to have your hand against his head.

            William finished lathering your legs before standing back up, in turn allowing you to drop your hand from his head. You watched him more attentively now, still marveling over what had just occurred and wondering what more could potentially come from him.

            You shook your head to clear your mind, however, as William cleaned the loofa and returned it to the corner shelf. You had momentarily forgotten that there were more steps ahead to the washing. William raised his hands to take yours and he pulled you into the water’s spray. You were once more reminded of how nice it felt to be covered in it. The tiny droplets sprinkling against you in a heated dance. You turned your head back and forth, twisting your body through the water in order to rinse off the soap. William watched you quietly, waiting for you to do what he had done before, taking the time to let all the body wash drip off.

            With a single nod, you let William know when you were done. He stepped forward almost immediately, seemingly having gotten the shampoo ready while you were busy rinsing yourself off. You lowered your head for his ease and closed your eyes again to better let yourself enjoy the moment.

            And enjoy it you did.

            The second his fingers were touching your head, you practically whimpered. They slipped across your head, his nails purposefully dragging lightly into your skin in an effort to gift you your favorite physical pleasure: scratching. You found yourself taking a deep breath in response, your feet automatically stepping closer to him. Your hands reached out to grip his torso and you sighed, your shoulders lowering in response to his touch.

            His nails carved their way through your scalp, the soap foaming up nicely between his fingers as he did so. Your head began to lower more and more until it was touching his collar bone. The more he explored your head, the deeper your forehead pressed into his chest. You thought maybe you heard the smallest of snorts from him, but you were too dazed to really care. The scratching felt too good to focus clearly.

            Dog.

            Obedient.

            He obliged you for a while, his fingers snaking through your hair and his nails clawing their way from the top of your head to the crevice of your neck. He scratched and he pulled, he scraped, and he scored, creating lines of blissful joy all across your head. By the time he was finished, his hands were on either side of our face, rubbing circles just above your ears. You were grateful to be in the shower surrounded by water or else you surely would have had a harder time pretending you hadn’t practically drooled in delight.

            When his hands finally dropped away, you could barely lift your head. He had to help you turn around, your mind too fogged with pleasure to want to move. But once his hand was in the middle of your back and he was tilting you backward, you knew to pay attention once more.

            Water splashed against the top of your head in fast rhythm. Quickly, William’s other hand shot up to protect your eyes. You could feel him move to help rinse the shampoo out of your hair, his fingers swift and thoughtfully gentle. You held perfectly still, trying to take in the moment. There you were, leaning back in his hands, warm water spraying down on both of you. It felt like he was dipping you backward into a river of cleansing rain, with all of the prior two week’s hardship shedding off of you. The scene was not unlike a mix between a trust fall and a baptism, though certainly William had no intention of letting you drop. His hands were holding you so securely, making sure that you were taken care of properly. It was then that you realized just how light you felt. How rejuvenated you were. How restored. And what’s more, how that restorative feeling came to be. While the soap had certainly helped remove every bit of stress and built-up worry from the last two weeks, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was truly why you felt so much better. Perhaps it hadn’t been the soap at all. Not entirely, anyway. Perhaps a larger part had been thanks to something else. Someone else. A person that had lovingly taken every effort to make sure you felt comforted, supported, and encouraged. A person that had respected your need for a break, a person that had come to offer moral support and help in your recovery process. A person you loved dearly.

            A person you were thinking of taking the name of?

            What? You mean Afton?

            Yes. Was that not what you were thinking?

            I… wasn’t thinking that, no. But maybe you were?

            Hm. Perhaps I was.

            By the time William pushed you back up from the water’s spray and took one final sweep of his hands to rinse the water from your hair, you were already impatient to face him. You turned quickly, barely giving him enough time to move his hands out of the way. You practically jumped into him, clinging to him and burying your head into his chest. Luckily, he caught you just fine and soon he was lowering his head to rest against the top of yours. Both of you were standing in the center of the water, its sprinkling falling mostly against William’s back. You could feel his cheek puff out against the top of your head, then. It was a sign that he had grinned. You squeezed him tighter, glad that he seemed happy, and grateful yourself for the experience you had just shared together.

            Perhaps you shouldn’t take the name.

Oh? Why not?

            It would be difficult.

Difficult?

            Trying to marry a dead man.

            I… Aha..! Ahahaha!

            Your laughter rang out into the small shower room, echoing off the tiles in joyful song.

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[dreadfulgentleman]

Grandpa Under The Water Tracks

May 11th, 2023

A friend asked me to come visit with them to the park in order to assess a specific attraction and have them witness their attempt to connect energetically to it. I agreed, then immediately felt that I needed to make sure I went there first on my own to secure a connection in order to be sure I could properly compare.

Connection was very difficult to make at first. I was searching for the "head" of the attraction, the main being behind it all. When I passed the clock tower, I thought for sure that might be the Figurehead but even then I could not connect. The clock felt more like a finger-to-a-glove, similar to Gracey at HM.

Eventually, frustrated at my lack of connecting, I asked W for assistance. He said, "Bottom. Underneath." So I flipped to looking at the water. Sure enough, the entity appeared once I had locked into the boat tracks.

What appeared from the boat tracks was a vision of Gloppy from the Candy Land game, except he was extremely grumpy and old feeling. Like a grandpa. He was immediately irritated upon being woken up and he snapped quickly, "What is it? What do you want?"

I explained who I was and what I was doing, adding that most of what I was doing was practicing Sensing. 'Grandpa' said, "Well, you've Sensed me, so go away now."

I asked if he was interested in my energy work. He looked at me with a reluctantly intrigued eye. I offered my hands to show him the basics. When he was busy pondering it, I sent a booster symbol. It splashed onto his face and he fiestily spattered, "Enough, enough! I get it! I see it!" He then grumpily admitted that he was interested in what I offered.

When we entered the first room of the ride, I asked if I could reach out to the animatronics. Grandpa snapped at me and said, "Don't touch the children! They're MY children, and I protect them!" It was here I realized an additional reason as to why I had felt the instinct to come here on my own first. This attraction required my establishing a sense of trust first, with a break in between sessions out of respect.

Grandpa loved every 'child' in the attraction. He was in the boat tracks that went through the entire attraction so naturally he was able to protect all of them and go anywhere throughout the place. When I told him I respected his decision, he seemed wary, but said, "Only energize me. Don't touch them until you've ridden it at least once with just me." I agreed.

Grandpa was extremely proud of the attraction. He loved the song and everything about it. He was pleased to be an original attraction to the park. He seemed to brighten when I asked him questions about the ride. I then risked a delicate question by telling him that I was surprised that he was appearing as a masculine energy to me. I associated the ride with women designers and prominent female leaders of the company. Grandpa unfortunately spat at that and said, "Women may have designed it, but men need to be in control." I was perturbed by the sexist comment, but then realized the age of the attraction and theorized that perhaps this was the type of environment the energy was born from. I should have expected it.

When I entered the Polynesian scene, I felt the instinct to experiment. I asked W if that was okay. He said, "Try it."

I asked Mimic to step forward and asked if she was able to interact with more than one animatronic at once or if she was only able to interact with one at a time. She indicated she could do multiple. So, wanting to test this, I asked if she could go and "get information" from all of the animatronics in this specific room. She shot out of my body fast, from every limb, in a large burst of painful energy. It shocked me and I reacted physically from it. Mimic indicated that getting this info would take a minute, so I left her alone. (It seems that anytime Mimic is snet in, she will always shoot out through my in some weirdly painful way. It's part of her existence and normal).

When I entered the finale scene, a human spirit appeared! It was an adult male and he was really annoyed that I hadn't gotten his permssion to do energy work on "his" ride (Grandpa). Admittedly, I got a little "rolled eyes" about this and it felt like a human trying to piss on some ego thing. But I was polite and apologized anyway and explained that I had gotten permission from Grandpa himself, as well as I typically focused on non-human things (so it isn't always quick for me to pick up on human energies unless I'm looking for it). He seemed annoyed still, but he was glad that I at least acknowledged his existence. He left me alone after that.

Grandpa returned into my view after that. He was just chucking along with me as normal. When the ride was almost over, he grabbed my hands and seemed so happy that I had listened to his request of respecting his "children". I thanked him back for the opportunity. I confirmed if it was okay to send energy normally now. He said yes, but said to still ask him first before each time. I agreed and told him I would be back in a little over a week with a friend. He seemed to look forward to it.

Mimic returned like a happy puppy after that. She excitedly claimed to have gotten information from every single animatronic in the Polynesian area. She proceeded to... hand me... energetic polaroids... Literally the equivalent of having done nothibg but taken pictures to show me what they all looked like. (W was laughing absurdly)

Mimic returned to her usual place after that, none the wiser to the humorous moment she had provided. I was stunned. She had technically provided exactly what I had asked for and yet...

"You have to remember she's stupid. She's a robot. They only do exactly what they're told." --W

[dreadfulgentleman]

I love him desperately.

Desperately.

Desperately so.

[dreadfulgentleman]

made some gifs of springtrap looking at the user hehe

[dreadfulgentleman]

if u get grabbed out of a locker against springtrap he fuckin laughs at ur dumb ass 😭

[dreadfulgentleman]

does this in front of you

[dreadfulgentleman]

THE SHINING (1980) dir. Stanley Kubrick

[dreadfulgentleman]

Selfishness-- Of Sadism and Masochism

A Reader-insert one shot with William Afton (Springtrap form) from the perspective of one who is learning to be comfortable with sexuality. Written for those unsure of vulnerability yet wish to fantasize in an (ironically) safe manner.

This is Chapter 5 of my fanfic, "Will Power--The Encouragement to Keep Going". Reading previous chapters is not required to enjoy this.

            “I don’t know if I can do this.”

            You stood still, your feet flat against the ground, but your knees noticeably shaking. Your hands writhed together in nervousness, your fingers acting like twittering birds desperate to keep moving. Fear stuck in your throat like a rock and it took everything not to let it climb higher. Despite the seemingly calm circumstances, it was impossible to stop trembling.

            The desk was before you, your eyes stuck to the top of it like glue. You had been standing in front of it for a while now, unable to move or think properly. When he had first suggested the idea, the one your mind was now considering, it had been exciting. But now, as you stood in the spot that he had pointed out as being the most affective, your nerves had overtaken the original thrill.

            “What are you afraid of?” he asked. William’s voice came from behind you. You knew he was watching you, waiting. You could sense him standing there, taking in your reaction patiently. You were grateful for that patience.

            “I…” you began to say. The words were difficult to form. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to come up with a logical answer. “I think… I think I’m afraid of it feeling selfish.”

            You could hear a creak of metal. Perhaps he had tilted his head. “What is selfish about it?” he asked.

            “It feels one-sided,” you tried to explain. A snort was heard.

            “Would I not be involved?” he asked with a teasing tone. A slight smile cracked through your anxiety, though it was short lived.

            “No, I know,” you replied. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I just feel… I feel like if I’m not facing you, it’s not loving.”

            “Hmm,” he murmured. You stayed quiet, your hands floating closer to your chest. You hoped he wasn’t offended by your hesitation. In reality, you did want to try the idea. The concept in thought just happened to be easier than actually doing it.

            You heard a shift behind you. Metal parts scratching together and the sound of heavy footsteps. A moment later and you could feel his presence behind you. Your mind wanted to describe his closeness as a warmth yet there was no real temperature to his body. Most likely, your mind was just associating him with comfort.

            “Do you feel me like this?” he asked. You paused, allowing yourself to focus on his proximity. Admittedly, even without him actually doing anything, your heart was responding happily to knowing he was there.

            “Yes,” you answered.

            “Do you like it?”

            “Yes.”

            “And what of this?”

            His arms reached forward to wrap around you. One hand was placed against the side of your collar bone and the other reached down to cling to your hip. The gesture was simple, yet it calmed your mind immediately. A drop of excitement fell into your belly as you could feel his torso press into your back.

            “What does this feel like to you?” he asked.

            You sighed. Letting your head fall back against him, your hands separated in order to place themselves over top of his. The tight embrace was incredibly caring.

            “It feels like love,” you replied in a dreamy tone. Your eyes closed as your head tilted to press into the side of his own. The rabbit masks’ fur glided against your cheek as his head leaned into the touch.  

            “Then what is the difference?” he asked in a whisper, continuing to rub his head into yours. “I am not facing you.” Your eyes snapped open and a frown appeared on your face.

            “I… I don’t know,” you said. “Perhaps it is because right now you are close to me. In the heat of the moment, your face would not be near me.”

            “I can stay near,” he offered, his hands starting to roam. A twinge of delight sparkled through you as you felt his hands glide against your body. One hand slid to your stomach and the other shifted into clutching one side of your chest. The feeling made your breath hitch and instinctively your legs stepped back a bit in an attempt to get even closer to him.

            His words drifted through your mind. It was a sweet offer to have made to you. Though the more you focused on how he had said them, the more you realized there was an undertone of desire. Almost as though he were trying to convince you for his own need rather than purely out of encouraging your exploration. The thought was strangely sweet, and it also made you want to ask him something related to it.

            “What sort of fantasies do you have?��� you asked, ignoring his offer for now.

            “Mmmmm…” he responded, his hands shifting immediately after you had asked. The hand against your chest slid up to clutch your throat and the other dug his fingers into your skin, almost painfully.

            “You wish to break my neck?” you asked. The question was delivered calmly. Despite his actions reflecting a threatening stance, you did not fear him. You knew he would not pursue actual harm.

            “There’s no sport in breaking it that easy,” he said. His fingers slowly tightened against your neck. You could feel his thumb play against the nerves and muscles underneath your skin. He pushed them and prodded them, forcing them to shift against each other.

            “Do you… wish to… hear me call out in pain?” you asked, leaning your head back further to allow him to fully access your throat.

            “I suppose it would be nice to hear you strain,” he said in consideration. His fingers against your stomach curled in and attempted to dig into your skin, shoving ever so slightly under the bottom of your rib cage bone. The feeling caused you to jump, your body jerking against the invasive pressure.

            “A curious reaction,” he said, refusing to move his hands from either placement.

            “I’m sorry, I’m rather ticklish,” you explained, your hands lowering from his own to set down against the sides of his legs instead. Your fingers gripped against the edges of the suit in hopes that forcing your hands to stay still would allow him to do as he pleased without disruption.

            William chuckled.

            “Shouldn’t have told me that,” he said. “Did you know that tickling is connected to the pain receptors? In some countries, tickling is considered torture.”

             “You fantasize making me writhe, then,” you pointed out.

            “Hm. Yessss…” he confirmed, drawing out the word in a hiss as his fingers continued to play. Your throat began to be gently squeezed and prodded, while your stomach was pressed into sharply with his fingers. You tried your best to allow him to do as he pleased, but your natural instinct to resist was showing. Your body began to jerk anytime he dug his fingers into your ribs, and little sounds of restrained laughter began to escape your mouth. The experience was almost too uncomfortable, but you were determined to keep going for his sake.

            “A-Are you imagining a hand or a k-knife?” you asked him, your torso arching away from him anytime a sudden jolt of pain shot through you.

            “Both,” he replied. Briefly, the hand against your stomach curled into a fist to pantomime stabbing you, but he quickly returned to prodding you with his fingers afterward. Perhaps the feeling of getting an actual reaction from you was better than imagining a weapon.

            “Are you a sadist?” you asked.

            “Are you a masochist?” he asked, deflecting your question.

            “No, I don’t believe I am,” you answered truthfully, noticing how his jabs were unpleasant. The enjoyment you felt currently was more about the fact that he was with you at all and that he was enjoying himself, not so much what he was literally doing to you.

            “Perhaps you would enjoy more of this type of torture in time. The line between pleasure and pain is fine. The pain is a reminder that you are still alive.”

            A particularly sharp upward curling of his finger under your rib bone caused you to gasp. Your hands shot upward suddenly from his legs to slap downward against his hand. William stopped his prodding immediately.

            “I am doing this for you, not for me,” you explained. “I don’t derive pleasure from being tortured. I just enjoy making you happy.”

            William’s hands moved away from your throat and ribs and instead squeezed against your middle to force you against him in a tight hug. His head buried itself into the crook of your neck and a sly tone of voice emerged from him. You could practically hear the grin on his face.

            “If you understand one-sided pleasure, then you should have no problem with the position I suggested originally,” he said darkly. A stunned expression appeared on your face and your mouth hung open agape at his words. He was right. Your mind had been interpreting the idea of a sexual encounter from behind as a one-sided affair despite the reality of it. It was a ridiculous thought, but he knew where your mind was with it and thus he tried to explain its validity regardless of the truth using an example of his own. He was being clever, and the example worked. You had no room to argue against feeling selfish if you yourself had willingly allowed him to fantasize just moments before.

            Tears welled in your eyes. Your hands gripped his and you pressed yourself backwards into him. He responded by squeezing you again, his head drooping to press the rabbit mask against the side of your neck. It lulled there slightly, feeling as though he were patiently waiting for your response.

            “You’re right,” you said after gathering yourself. “I would like to try it.”

To continue reading this chapter, click here to go to Ao3.

[dreadfulgentleman]

i dont need a job. loving that fictional character IS my job and my salary is $0

[dreadfulgentleman]

I've never been one for dreams myself. I'm impressed by people who can do that. It's very rare that I get a dream that means anything. I'm sure with consistent journaling it would improve but I can't be assed. I always give it up after three days, ha. Kudos to you on being able to do so.

I'm a sucker for reiki (and tarot for that matter). Although I'm very untraditional and use it most commonly in places like theme parks these days (animatronic assessment, lost ghost assistance, etc.) Human reiki I typically use only on close friends or anyone wanting to learn from me (I'm a Reiki Master). I love the stuff. It's fun to play with.

You say "in a lucid state". What specifically do you mean? In dreams? While awake? I've only interacted with my W (shorthand I use for 'William') in dreams twice in my 3.5 years of interacting with him. For me, it's 99% interaction while being fully awake. I just live my daily life with him, talking or interacting with him as close to physically real as can be given the circumstances. I'm curious if that's the same for you or if this only works for you in a purposeful state (such as dreaming or under the influence).

I've met a couple people with Systems that have fictive sources in their groupings, so I understand what you're talking about. I find it intriguing the differences between System members and spirit guides because without enough experience to understand the difference, they sound an awful lot alike. It can be understandably confusing and yet that nuance is fascinating to me.

When you say channeling do you mean as in communication with spirits or do you mean letting an entity take over the body? I discovered about a year ago that I interpret that word differently than most people. I always thought channeling was only used when an entity takes over the body like a puppet and speaks through it but apparently people use it to also mean interpreting what a spiritual entity is saying and being able to talk with them or translate on their behalf with no body-take over. Ever since then I've been unsure which meaning people are using at any given time. Regardless, I find channeling in the puppet-sense interesting simply because I had to train hard to be able to do it. It took a very long time for me to allow entities to do that through me. And even still, it's a struggle. I can never fully let go of my conscious awareness with it and I can feel the entities having difficulty if they can't truly express what they're wanting to. I'm sure with practice it would get better but, again, I do things so casually or just for myself these days that I hardly get the chance to.

Hello from someone who also has a William brain guy!! (I don't use the term spirit guide much anymore) And is also metaphysically inclined.. A "certified" psychic if you will! Though I haven't actively done work since taking the classes to get the cute certificate to begin with haha, but I do regularly experience things! Seeing/feeling them while awake, and in dreams. I did not expect to find someone else while browsing the tags haha.

I don't have a question and just wanted to say hey!

Hello, fellow psychic! Your timing could not be more perfect (as surely is not surprising). Was just talking about finding new people with fictive guides earlier today. Feels like more and more people come out of the woodwork as time goes by.

"cute certificate"? I didn't realize one could get one of those for being psychic. Though I've never bothered to look into it, I suppose. The only certificate I have is for Reiki, though perhaps obviously that's not the same thing. I used to practice professionally with psychic-related activities but everything I do these days is casual or just for myself/friends.

You're now the sixth person I have found that has a William "brain guy". We're gathering an army, I swear. Love finding new people that are experiencing this bizarre and intriguing sliver of metaphysics. I hope more people feel comfortable with coming forward and sharing their experiences with this subject. I have a feeling there's a lot more people than we realize going through it.

Anyway... Rambling aside... I'm glad you reached out! Give a polite nod of greeting to your William for me. If you ever feel like sharing more of what your experiences are like, I'd be glad to hear them.

[dreadfulgentleman]

"Where's my Breakfast?" by Daniel Arthur

[dreadfulgentleman]

Yearly tradition, terrible reminder

[dreadfulgentleman]

Hello from someone who also has a William brain guy!! (I don't use the term spirit guide much anymore) And is also metaphysically inclined.. A "certified" psychic if you will! Though I haven't actively done work since taking the classes to get the cute certificate to begin with haha, but I do regularly experience things! Seeing/feeling them while awake, and in dreams. I did not expect to find someone else while browsing the tags haha.

I don't have a question and just wanted to say hey!

Hello, fellow psychic! Your timing could not be more perfect (as surely is not surprising). Was just talking about finding new people with fictive guides earlier today. Feels like more and more people come out of the woodwork as time goes by.

"cute certificate"? I didn't realize one could get one of those for being psychic. Though I've never bothered to look into it, I suppose. The only certificate I have is for Reiki, though perhaps obviously that's not the same thing. I used to practice professionally with psychic-related activities but everything I do these days is casual or just for myself/friends.

You're now the sixth person I have found that has a William "brain guy". We're gathering an army, I swear. Love finding new people that are experiencing this bizarre and intriguing sliver of metaphysics. I hope more people feel comfortable with coming forward and sharing their experiences with this subject. I have a feeling there's a lot more people than we realize going through it.

Anyway... Rambling aside... I'm glad you reached out! Give a polite nod of greeting to your William for me. If you ever feel like sharing more of what your experiences are like, I'd be glad to hear them.

[dreadfulgentleman]

Some people I know told me today that they ran into some new folks and started chatting, only to discover that they all tangentially knew me in some way, and that knowledge of me came through the concept of my "being guided" by William Afton.

Well, damn. That's majorly fascinating. Is this my legacy now? Intriguing...

Hello other people in the same boat as me. There's surely quite a lot of us out there that don't realize they're not as alone as they thought...

[dreadfulgentleman]

Unleashing A God - Of Boundaries and Fantasy

After last night's encounter with William Afton in his Springtrap form, you have returned to meet him once more--This time with an important conversation before starting anything else.

Chapter 2 from my fanfic "Will Power -- The Encouragement to Keep Going"

“What was it like?”

            You had returned. A single night’s passing between where you were now versus then. The time had passed slowly, your body having ached to be back in his presence, back in his arms. The wait had been agony. But you were here now, the previous night’s fantasy still fresh in your mind, the feeling of it still lingering in the air between you both.

            Though, perhaps the memory only felt fresh because of what you both were doing currently. It did, after all, feel very similar to last night’s event, although neither of you were in the throes of anything heated. In fact, the action was far gentler than that. William had you pinned to the desk, your back lying flat against the metal piece of furniture with your legs spread to let him stand between them. You were fully clothed, your hands drooped lazily against the nape of his neck, and your head leaned to the side. His face was buried into the crook of your neck, leaving little marks of love and sweetness against your skin with his lips.

            It was the same spot as before. The same place that he had taken you completely. But despite the warmth growing in your stomach at the idea of him doing it again, your mind was far too busy enjoying this small moment of togetherness to rush anything further. He was pressed so firmly against you, his face so very close to yours. The fact that he had sunk his head as close as he could get into your neck at all was so very sweet. You couldn’t help but let yourself smile as he continued to trail his mouth between your ear and collarbone, his kisses turning dangerously close to hickies. The feeling of his skin against yours was intoxicating enough, let alone his lips. What had you done to deserve this?

            William… Your thoughts floated to the man before you. What a mystery he was. Despite having opened yourself up to him the night before, you really didn’t know that much about him. Then again, he didn’t know very much about you either. Was it normal to start a relationship in passion like this before learning practically anything about each other? On the other hand, was this even a relationship at all? Perhaps it was purely a temporary exploration of bodies. What exactly were you to each other?

            Your fingertips danced against the back of his neck, thinking. His skin was smooth, somewhat cool to the touch. You were surprised to notice that it felt relatively normal compared to what you knew had happened to him. Looks-wise it was terrible, of course, but the physical feeling of the skin on his neck was no different than your own. Did it feel the same to him? Come to think of it, what did his body feel like to him in general now? Clearly, he had to feel something, or else your previous lover’s exchange would not have worked him up so much. But how much of his body could he really feel now? Were his senses reduced to nothing more than an energetic pulse? Had your touches thus far been nothing more than a faded version of the real thing? What kind of anguish would it be to only have the memory of senses, rather than the full amount?

            You trailed your hands forward to lightly scrape against the metal bars coming from his cheeks. A question entered your mind, then. One that you had wondered for a while, but never thought it appropriate to ask until now. The question itself was not an offensive one, but it had seemed to you to be too personal until now.

            You said the question out loud, tracing your fingers along the metal bars with fragility. William didn’t seem to react at first, too busy cradling both your hip and your head at the same time and gently massaging little lines into you with his fingers. His hands were rough and solid, but the gestures were kind. Eventually, he removed his lips from your skin just enough to clarify what you had said.

            “What was what like?”

            His mouth returned to your ear and he softly bit his teeth against it, teething it slightly before trailing back down to your neck once more.

            “Behind the wall,” you said quietly, your eyes scanning across to the far corner of the room to look at the posters there. Mindlessly, your left hand traveled up to drag a finger across the tips of the rabbit mask’s top teeth. Would it offend him that you had asked?

            His sweet gestures ceased, both his hands and his lips pausing. He didn’t move and he didn’t speak either, seemingly contemplating the question.

            “Hmm,” he murmured. You turned your head to try and look at him as he thought. Your movement caused him to lift his head, tilting it so that he could eye you sideways with an analytical eye. A smirk appeared on his face, then. It read playful, but it also felt dangerous. “Awfully curious, aren’t we?” he purred after a moment.

            “So is your mouth,” you blurted without thinking, staring at him blankly. His expression snapped in response, his eyes narrowing angrily and his mouth arching into half of a scowl. Instantly, regret began to pool into your stomach. You watched as an unexplainable shift occurred in his posture that caused your eyes to widen in fear. For a brief moment, you were reminded of exactly what kind of creature was actually holding you down there on that desk. In an instant, he was terrifying to you.

            And he had not liked your joke at all.

            Quickly, you tore your hands away from his face and pressed them flat against his chest in panic.

            “I-I’m sorry!” you stammered in a rush, hoping your words would settle his obvious insult. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I really loved what you were doing. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

            His eyes stayed slivered for a few more seconds before returning to their normal gaze. You couldn’t help but feel as though you had just been close to never speaking to him again (Or possibly ever seen again by anyone, for that matter). Your assumption the entire time had been not to consider this affair long-lasting, but it still hurt to think that something as simple as a single sarcastic sentence could end things so suddenly. Was your connection with William that easy to break?

            “What did it feel like for you?” he spat suddenly, his tone filled with hate and his eyes staring at you like an owl cornering a mouse. The question and sound of his voice felt out of the blue. You weren’t sure how to respond at first. And the way he was looking at you was unnerving.

            “W-when?” you asked eventually, your heartbeat starting to rise in rhythm. Your entire body felt paralyzed by his commanding presence.

            “When you were touched by a god.”

            His eyes went wide, staring into yours as though he could see straight into your soul. He leaned in closer, his moon-like gaze maddening. His fingers had gripped you tightly when he had said the word “god” and it was this action that finally caused you to swallow in fear.

            Tears welled up in your eyes, then. It was clear now that what he was doing was putting you in your place. And admittedly, the treatment made your heart shrink. You had been so open with him, so vulnerable. Was your shared intimacy to be ruined by one accidental slip of the tongue?

            You didn’t answer him. Lines of tears began to run down your face, and you turned away to stare at the wall. You felt saddened, wishing to go back to the way things had been before, when he had been sweet.

            A long minute passed. He stayed frozen, watching you cry for a while, perhaps to solidify his metaphorical thumb over you.

            Finally, you spoke up.

            “Why mock me about that when you knew it was hard for me?” you asked.

            No response. You shifted your head to look at him. He stared back at you, unmoving. The line of his mouth was neutral, his eyes betraying no emotion. You hoped his expression was one of contemplation, not uncaring, but there was no way to truly know. You decided to continue talking.

            “Were you not the one to encourage me in the first place?” you choked. “Were all those things you did to me out of love or control?”

            He shifted, then, his shoulders lifting slightly at the questions. His lips pursed together as he stared. This time, he really did look as though he were contemplating your words. He clicked his teeth a few times, then sighed. His threatening display dropped, and his eyes turned benevolent.

            “I apologize,” he said. “I do not like being teased.”

            Your body relaxed at his words.

            “I’m sorry for teasing you in the first place,” you responded. “I’ll try not to going forward.”

            He nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he did so. You took this as a sign that the moment of accidental insult had officially passed. He hadn’t answered your question regarding control, but you didn’t bother to press him further on it. The explanation for his outburst was enough for now.

            William’s moment of threat from before lingered in your mind, however. It had shocked you to the core. You had completely forgotten the true terror of what he really was, what he normally did to people. The capability within him was obviously powerful, he could snap your neck at any time, let alone do anything else equally violent. Hell, was it possible he was only playing with you now until he got bored? What would happen once he was done with you?

            “It is difficult to describe what I felt behind the wall,” he said suddenly, breaking your thoughts. You perked up, not expecting him to actually speak on the subject. Given what your mind had just been trailing to, though, William’s sudden vulnerability seemed like a good sign. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as bored of you as you had feared. “I was… dormant. For a lot of it. Going in and out of consciousness throughout the years.”

            You stayed silent, listening. You could feel how important it was to pay attention to him. Not that you weren’t genuinely interested anyway.

            “But I was not dormant for all of it,” he continued. “The first few months were the worst. I do not have words for that kind of pain. I would trade going through the spring lock failure over again compared to what came after. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be eaten slowly alive by insects, all the while being unable to move? Have you ever tried to sleep through a cold winter night, unable to stop your body from automatically trembling, which causes all of the metal bars pierced through your body to re-open the wounds and rattle your pain nerves? The initial system failure was quick in comparison. The rest is a torture I cannot describe well enough. It is an existence of unimaginable torment. I could not move. I could do nothing but lie there and feel every moment of pain. Every excruciating detail. Every gnat, every fly, every shiver of torture.”

            You were stunned as he described the event. The experience sounded awful as it was before but hearing about it directly from him made you nearly sick.

            “H-How are you alive?” you couldn’t help asking, feeling breathless from his words. His eyes narrowed, a delicious grin spreading across his face.

            “Because I was right,” he declared darkly. You could practically feel the heat from the fire in his voice as he said it. He was heavily self-assured in whatever it was he was talking about. You watched his eyes float away from you, then, gazing into the distance at some far-away thought. You were unclear on what exactly he had been right about, but you could tell he felt it deeply based on his expression. His eyes had furrowed into a concentrated glare and his entire body was frozen, as though stuck in a spiraling loop of endless thoughts.

            Your initial instinct was to let him be for a moment. But eventually, you didn’t wish for him to be lost forever.

            “A god is always right,” you offered after a long pause. He blinked, shaken from his thoughts to look down at you. You stared at him silently, watching him tilt his head curiously to the side. His gaze once again turned analytical. You were starting to find it interesting anytime he did that.

            Slowly, William began to lean forward. You didn’t move, paralyzed from your fascination of whatever he was about to do. He lowered his face to yours, dipping his head ever so slightly to brush his lips against yours. With the softest of touches, he lightly pressed them against yours, a single kiss of velvet delight.

            “Yes…” he breathed steadily into you, drawing out the word as though it brought him pleasure just by speaking it. Your lips spread into a smile, now understanding what had just occurred in his mind. Then, an idea came to you. Were you bold enough to try it? You raised your hands delicately to place them in between the metal bars in his cheeks and you pulled him into a longer kiss.

            “Do you know how much I fear you?” you whispered in between his lips. You could have sworn the long rabbit ear twitched in response. “I fear you profoundly.”

            You almost missed it, but William shivered. It was barely a movement at all, a whisper of a reaction, but it had occurred. He lowered from his palms to his elbows to try and hide it, but you had felt it, you knew he had reacted to your words. And now, he was paused, lips hovering above yours, waiting. You looked up to notice that his eyes were closed. Had you unlocked something?

            “I grow frightened just looking at you,” you continued, still whispering. Your hands lowered from cupping his face to lightly placing them against the top edge of the rabbit suit’s chest plate. “I fear what you are capable of. I fear you.”

            A noise erupted from him, then. A small throaty grumble, not quite a moan, not quite a grunt. His body shifted in place, his hands curling underneath you to clutch your shoulders from the backside.

            You had him perfectly in your grasp, now. You could feel the importance of this moment. It was now or never if you wished to act. You moved your hands upward to pull down on the back of his neck and forced him toward you. Shifting your face to the side, you made sure your mouth was right in front of his ear when you spoke next.

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[dreadfulgentleman]

Was It a Dream?

— by Adolf Arthur Dehn